


Spellbound, Tongue-Tied

by thefairfleming



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Love Potion/Spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is still a new maester. Not his fault he accidentally makes a love potion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spellbound, Tongue-Tied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honey_wheeler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/gifts).



> honey_wheeler and I continue to challenge each other to make fics of 800 words. This is (yet another) result.

               "I'm sorry," Jon pants when he wrenches his mouth from Sansa's.

               But Sansa, her hands curled in the front of his shirt to yank him back to her, only shakes her head. "I'm not."

               With a groan, he leans forward, kissing her again and Sansa could sing for how happy, how _relieved_ , she feels.

               She's not sure what has brought this on. One moment he was escorting her back to her rooms as he does every night. The next, they were in her chambers, and he had pressed her against the door and kissed her.

               And all Sansa had thought from the second his tongue stroked inside her mouth was, _Oh, finally_.

               Months she has watched Jon Snow and felt him watching her, months of the air between them feeling heavy and charged, but he has never treated her with anything other than distant respect.

               He is not distant now, his fingers tugging impatiently at the laces of her dress, his mouth pressing hot, sucking kisses to the skin of her throat. Tilting her head back, Sansa wiggles her shoulders, helps him pull at her gown until it pools around her feet and she stands before him in just her shift.

               "I think about you all the time," he pants, his fingers moving through her hair, pins hitting the stone floor. "I dream about you."

               "And what do you dream?" she asks, surprised by the husky suggestion in her voice.

               Jon pulls back enough to look at her, his thumbs making circles on her jaw. "Kissing you." His lips brush against her eyelashes. "Touching you." His hands slip from her face to cage her ribs. And then he puts his mouth to her ear and murmurs something so shocking, so delightfully wicked that Sansa gives a whimper, her hips surging against his.

               "Why are you telling me all this now?" she asks, letting her fingers tangle in his hair. This close, she can see how dark his eyes are, nearly black and almost fever-bright.

               "I don't know," Jon breathes, his gaze roaming over her face. "It's as if...I had to. I couldn't _not_ touch you anymore."

               Sighing happily, Sansa presses closer, nipping at his lower lip. "Good."

               Frowning, Jon shakes his head as though he's trying to clear it. "We shouldn't. I...I had reasons we shouldn't. I'm sure of it."

               But he kisses her again all the same.

               "Tell me to go," Jon begs, anguished, even as he sinks to his knees, kissing her belly, the tops of her thighs through the linen of her shift.

               Sansa leans back against the wall and begins gather her skirt in one hand. "No," she whispers. "I don't think I shall just yet."

 

***

 

 

               "That tickles," Gilly giggles, but Sam only nuzzles the soft skin of her belly again, wanting to hear her laugh more. He loves that sound, loves her, and is not sure he ever has more than he does right now.

               As his hand skirts along her thigh, Gilly's giggles give way to sighs, and she cants her body up into his touch even as she asks, "Sam, what has gotten _into_ you?"

               "Don't know," he replies, laughing ruefully and pressing a kiss to her ribs. And it is true that in all the time he's shared Gilly's bed, he's never touched her first. He's always waited for her to come to him first, maybe because despite their years together, the children they share, he still feels shy around her sometimes. Or maybe it's just that he wants to make up for all of the years Gilly never got to choose when she shared a man's bed.

               "I just...I feel like if I don't touch you right now, I might die," Sam tells her, looking up Gilly's body to her sweet, flushed face, and when he slides a hand there, between her legs, her eyes go wide, lips parting.

               "I-I feel like I might die if you don't touch me right now, too," she says breathlessly, her head dropping back on the pillow.

               So Sam touches his wife, his love and desire for her racing in his blood, his heart pounding.               

               Later, when she curls against his chest with a gusty, contented sigh, Sam kisses her temple and wonders why her words- _what has gotten into you_ \- keep circling his brain. He always wants Gilly, but it's true he's never felt quite that...impassioned. He almost feels drunk, but he'd had no wine today.

               Briefly, his thoughts drift to his workshop, to the tonic he'd made for Jon's headache earlier. He'd tried some himself, but surely, that couldn't have been....no, no, he'd gotten the recipe correctly and besides, aphrodisiacs were far beyond his skills.

               But still, perhaps he should check his notes tomorrow, just to be sure. 


End file.
